The Love You Left Behind
by HGF34567
Summary: It's been a year since he's gone missing, a full year since he disappeared into thin air like he never existed at all. It almost feels like he was never real at all. Dad, Marcus, and even Todd and Marty refuse to tell me anything about Dave. I guess it's up to me to pick up the pieces of the life he left behind; I guess it's my job to find him. [AU]
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

_**"Music played and people sang; just for me the churchbells rang. Now he's gone, I don't know why. And to this day, sometimes I cry. He didn't even say goodbye, he didn't take the time to lie. Bang bang, he shot me down, bang bang, I hit the ground, bang bang, that awful sound, bang bang...my baby shot me down."- Bang Bang (My Baby Shot Me Down), Nancy Sinatra**_

**Mindy's POV**

_"You're such an asshole!" I scream jokingly, my hair dripping from the water balloon he just threw at me. "I'm so gonna get you for this!"_

_Chasing him around the yard, I toss my own water balloon at him, watching as it hits him and explodes. I giggle- an unusual act- as he shrieks like a dork and tries to get me back. "Nice try!" I taunt him, barely able to say the words without laughing. I have to hold myself up to keep from falling to the ground- that's how hard I'm laughing. _

_While I'm having a fit of giggles, Dave sneaks up behind me, catching me off guard, and grabs me by the waist. I scream, thinking it's a murderer or something, before realizing that it's just my Dave, who couldn't hurt me if he tried. He picks me up and spins me around in a really awesome, cliche kind of way, and my giggles get louder._

_After that, he puts me down, still holding onto me tightly. Turning around to face him, I wrap my arms around his neck, and press my lips to his, letting them linger there for a few seconds before pulling away to grab a water balloon, which I pop over his head, soaking his gorgeous curly hair. _

_"No fair!" He exclaims. "You distracted me!"_

_I smirk. "All's fair in love and war, babe."_

_This time, it's his turn to give me a kiss, and I force his lips to stay on mine longer than they want to. I stand on my tiptoes, our difference in height making it hard to keep the kiss going. The kiss is more passionate than the sweet one we shared earlier, and I find myself already wanting to fuck him. I feel the setting summer sun burning into us as we kiss, and the mosquitos buzzing in our ears, threatening to bite us, but it hardly bothers me. Dave is the only thing I can focus on, and his love is the only thing I feel._

_Little did I know that that was the last time I was ever going to see him._

...

_I still feel the ghost of his lips on mine, but the traces of love he left in my heart are overused, worth nothing anymore, but my focus is still on him, on that beautiful, amazing boy I was stupid enough to let go._

_ It's been a year since he's gone missing. A full year since he disappeared into thin air like he never existed at all. It almost feels like he never was real; my dad tries to pretend he never existed, and plays dumb, ignores me, or gets distant and mad when I ask about him. Dad's best friend, Marcus, claims that he didn't even know he's gone missing, though I must have asked him if he knew anything about Dave at least a thousand times. Even Dave's best friends, Todd and Marty, refuse to answer any questions about Dave. They make it seem like Dave is/was a terrible person, someone who never deserved love, especially dad._

_ If I were any dumber I'd say that they're lying to me to protect me. Luckily, I see right through that whole bullshit lie. What would they be trying to protect me from, though? Love?_

_ Anyway, I guess it's up to me to find him, to pick up the pieces of the life he left behind and make something out of it..._

...

"Mindy! Time for training, babydoll!"

My dad's voice booms through the apartment, echoing through each room. I jump a little at the sound of it and almost drop the red pen I hold in my hand. Sighing, I put the cap on the pen, deciding that I'll have to work on my "project" later. Putting the pen in the cup full of micellanous supplies, I take more deep breaths, trying to ease the tension I feel. I close my eyes for a moment, letting images of Dave float around behind my closed eyelids, then snap them open when I hear a knock at the door. Now open, my eyes take in the image of my bedroom wall, which is covered with maps and pictures.

"Come in, dad," I say, not even looking at the door. I hear it swing open, and my father walks in, hopefully carrying a mug of hot chocolate- I could really use the sugar right now.

I hear a loud, pained sigh. "Mindy, I thought I told you to take all of that crap down," Dad says, gesturing towards the maps, post-its, and snapshots of Dave that cover my purple wall. I've been using my wall to try to piece together the mystery of my missing boyfriend, and, evidently, my dad hates this. Each time he comes into my room, he asks me to take it down, and my answer is always the same.

"I'll take it down when someone can tell me what happened to Dave," I reply, crossing my arms over my chest.

My dad sighs again, puts down my mug, and goes to give me a hug. Almost reluctantly, I hug him back, but pull away a second later. "Daddy. You and I both know that Dave is real, and that he's missing, and that I love him. I can't take this down, and for that, I'm sorry. Believe me, I'd love to take this all down, but I'm not going to do that until I find out where he is."

""Mindy. You're sixteen years old now. You need to stop acting like a lovesick drama queen and focus on what matters," he tells me. "As you know, this obsession with him can't be healthy. You need to accept the fact that he might not even be in danger, Mindy."

Feeling hints of anger bubbling up within me, I jerk away from him. "Are you implying that he...that he left me?" I ask, unable to believe that he's actually saying these things.

This is a rountine, too. My dad always suggests that Dave just took off, and though he tells me every day that this is a possibility, I always become enraged. Daddy doesn't get it, though. He doesn't get that Dave fought for me, he cheated on Katie for me, he's even killed for me- why would he leave me?

I tell my father this, and he shakes his head. "Okay, Mindy. Let's say he's actually in some form of danger. What could you do about it? How would you find him?" Daddy demands. "Do you honestly think you could find him?"

Now this question is one that I find very hard to answer. I know how to find Dave, I know where he might be, who might've taken him, and why he might have been taken, but I still just can't answer that question. I _know _I can find him, but knowing that my Dad doubts that I can makes me wonder if I really have the strengths and the smarts to do so.

You see, I have a plan. I plan to put together any little bits of information I have about Dave in order to get the slightest hint about where he is. Then, I'll track him down and get him, even if that means having to kill anyone in my way. I know this sounds like a pretty good plan, but it's been a year and...I've got nothing.

"Yes, Daddy, I do," I say dismissively. "Now can you let me get ready for training?"

My dad nods and exits the room, leaving nothing but my steaming cup of hot cocoa behind. I pick it up, and take a sip, letting the flavors of cinnamon and mint excite my tastebuds. The warmth of the beverge flows through me, trying to warm my icy heart.

After slamming it back down on my desk, I get dressed in one of Dave's old shirts, one that he left behind after he spent the night this one time when my dad was out of town. As I pull it on over my head, his scent wafts in the air around me, and I feel tears well up in my eyes as I take in a deep breath with his smell around me. I know this may sound kind of weird, but I always used to love the way he smelled- his scent was like a mix between sweet smelling laundry soap and light colone- it was always very comforting.

Letting one of tears slide, I get dressed the rest of the way and sniffle as I exit my room, taking one last glance at the wall where many, many pictures of Dave/Dave and I are hanging.

"I miss you so much, Dave," I say, walking towards a picture of him. In it, he's sitting on his couch, smiling up at the camera shyly. _I remember that day. I had wanted a picture of him so badly because I was sure he was going to die out on patrol that night. He was so annoyed. I remember having to threaten him into smiling. _I see the gleaming knife that sits on the table next to it, the knife I threatened him with, and smile. _I had almost threatened him into kissing me that day with that knife. His reaction to me doing that was so hilarious. He got all red and blushy...it was so cute._

"I miss your dorkiness, your smile, your laugh, how shy you are," I tell the picture as another teardrop makes it's way down my face. "I miss your hair. G-d, I love that hair. It was amazing running my fingers through it while making out with you. And your eyes. I love those eyes. I like how when you're out on patrol with me, they harden and make you look tougher than you actually are. I love it how when they're looking at me, they glitter and soften. I miss every single little thing about you...

"I know you're alive, Dave. I feel it. You know how in those movies, when someone's lover dies, they get that unbearable pain in their heart? Well, I think it's like that in real life. And, I haven't felt any pain at all, so you have to be alive, right? I know it's stupid to think like that, but...it's all I have. You left me with nothing, no hope, no clues...just...I'm sorry. But please, please be alive. I need you. Daddy's crazy now. He's not the same anymore and I just feel so alone. I want you back. You're my everything, you're all I have, and it's been such a long year without you. I love you; please just be alive," I tell 'Dave', my voice now a whisper.

I choke down a sob as I yank the picture off the wall with more angry, depressed tears blurring my vision. My fingers softly stroke it, reaching to caress 'Dave's' face. "Why the fuck would you do this to me?" I ask 'him.' "Damn you for doing this."

This act, right here, is not a routine. It's not something I do daily, or weekly; I rarely let myself show any bits of emotion, even when I'm alone. Emotion, hope, feelings; whenever I show one of those things, it makes me a little bit weaker. Not only that, it's just, I just don't have time to waste crying, usually. I'm usually so busy looking for Dave that I can't find the time to cry...But right now, it's different. I'm fragile right now because today marks the day he's been gone for a year.

_He's been gone for an entire year. An entire YEAR._

That's when I really burst into tears, letting everything flow out of me. Mentally scolding myself for being so weak, I try and pull myself together. _Hit-Girl wouldn't cry like this. Would she? _I ask myself. _Stop acting so damn weak. Daddy's right; you're being a love sick drama queen. Get yourself together before your father walks in and sees you like this._

Just as I think of my father, he opens the door and walks in. I jump back and wipe my eyes, trying to hide my puffy eyes and red nose.

"Mindy? What are you doing in here?" Daddy asks. He gives me another glance, taking in everything about me. "Were you crying? What's wrong, dollface?"

I shake my head instinctively, as I do whenever he asks if I've been crying. "No, no, no," I reply quickly, "Of course not, Daddy. I was just..."

"You don't need to explain yourself to me, sweetheart. Just get down to the basement so we can train, okay?" Daddy says.

Nodding, I sigh loudly as the door slams shut. "Please come back to me Dave," I whisper into the air.

* * *

><p><strong>(AN: So hey guys! I starting writing this a little while ago and I didn't really know if I should publish it or not, but Captain-Sherlock-Who convinced me to. Please tell me what you think, and if you liked it or not. I don't know what else to say, so...I hope you enjoyed! Review?**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

_**"I always needed time on my own. I never thought I'd need you there when I cried, and the days feel like years when I'm alone. The bed where you lie is made up on your side. When you walk away I count the steps that you take; can't you see how much I need you right now? When you're gone, the pieces of my heart are missing you, and the face I came to know is missing, too." - When You're Gone, Avril Lavigne **_

**Mindy's POV**

_"You're crazy, you know that?"_

_I smile at my boyfriend and grip his hand tighter, watching as his face goes pale when, outside our tent, another twig snaps in the distance. Laughing, I tell him, "I'm not crazy! You're just being a pussy."_

_He gives me a look that says, 'Oh really?' "I'm not the one who cried the whole way up here!" He exclaims._

_I roll my eyes. "Whatever, Dave. One day you're going to admit that you're scared of camping."_

_Another bird squawks outside, and he snuggles up closer to me in our sleeping bag. I giggle as he frowns, though my teeth won't stop chattering due to how freezing it is. There's really no need for the tent we're attempting to get to sleep in; it does nothing to protect us from the harsh cold that the night has brought on._

_"Min, can we go to sleep now? I'm kind of weirded out by all this nature..." he trails off, his shadowed, troubled face looking away from mine. My hands find their way to his face in the darkness, and I pull his pale face close to mine._

_"It's okay," I whisper. "I'm not gonna let anything hurt you."_

_He offers a small smile. "I know. You never even let anything touch me before you stick a knife through it."_

_We both laugh. "Hey, that mugger was asking for it!" I exclaim in my defense. He laughs so hard he almost snorts, which makes me giggle even harder, and the sound of it is so loud I cover my mouth with my hand, only because it seems wrong to disturb the quiet of the night. In the happy, bubbly quiet, I realize again how much I love Dave, though I must have this realization a billion times a day._

_I decide to tell him so. "I love you, Dave."_

_He presses his lips to mine for a second before pulling away. "I love you too."_

_His loving words stay with me the rest of the night, and I drift off to sleep feeling like I'm living in a cheesy romance movie that is never going to end._

_..._

_ Like most love stories, ours was unique and beautiful in it's own way. I'm not saying it was a _normal _love story, I'm just saying it was like most of the other stories you'll read about today._

_ The odds of it happening weren't in our favor, though. I was fifteen, he was eighteen; he was a senior, and I was a freshman. I had been in love with him since I was twelve, but he was still dating that whore Katie, whom I referred to as Katherine because I thought Katie was a name much too sweet for someone like her. It was taking him far too long to notice me, and by the time he did, I had just about given up. There were just so many things keeping us apart that I almost didn't see the point in trying anymore._

_ Finally, it happened, and we got a wonderful six months together before he disappeared. Within those six months, we both changed, we both grew in many ways, and we both learned what love is. I know this may sound cliche, but fall in love, and you'll understand. You just need to know that this special, undying love that we shared is what makes our story all the more tragic..._

...

"Mindy, come on! You're usually better at combat training. What's with you today?"

I stare up at my father from the cold mat I lay on. Trying to catch my breath, I take his hand and he helps me get back up. "Sorry. I just..." I trail off, unable to tell him about what I'm feeling. It's not like he'd care, anyway; at the mention of Dave's name he'd turn unfeeling, cold, distant.

"Sorry doesn't change the fact that you're distracted and that you're letting yourself lose. Usually you don't let anything distract you. Again, what's your problem? Did something happen at school? I knew I shouldn't have let Marcus enroll you in that stupid school..." My father says as he releases my sweaty palm.

Sighing, I reply. "Don't act like you don't know."

My father shrugs. "I don't."

This is something that's pretty common. Like I've mentioned before, sometimes he plays dumb, like he doesn't know anything about my boyfriend. This is one of those times. Usually, I just brush it off and change the subject, but today's different; and he should know why.

"I don't want to talk about this anymore, Dad. And by the way, I probably have improved in skill and stealthiness, you're just being hard on me today. I train every single day after school and before bed, so there's no way I could have gotten worse," I insist, "Besides, it's not much fun training to be Hit-Girl when I don't have anyone to go out with. And don't say that you can come with me. Ever since the burning, you haven't been able to, and you know that."

Three years ago, my father and Dave were beaten, almost to death, as I'm sure you know, by the men/helpers of Frank D'Amico. D'Amico's men attempted to burn my father to death, but the flames only got to his legs before I was able to help him, so he ended up losing both of his legs. He's gotten pretty good at walking on the artificial ones he has, but his loss still slows him down.

'Training,' as we've been doing this morning, is really me fighting dummies and stuff while he watches. Occasionally, he tries to fight me, like he's done today, but it usually results in him getting extremely tired and me getting extremely frustrated. Anyway, he hasn't been able to go out as his superhero alter ego with me because of his legs, so I haven't gone out in a while, either. I used to frequently go out on patrol with Dave, but now I can't (it should be well known by now why I can't go out with him anymore).

"Do you have to bring up the accident every time I try to train you?" Daddy demands. Clearly, my mention of the burning has offended him, not that this is any form of a surprise.

I sigh again. "I'm sorry, Daddy. I'm gonna go get ready for school now."

Without waiting for his reply, I charge up the stairs to go get ready for school.

...

"I'm telling you, she wears that fucking shirt every single day of the week."

After glaring at Marty, I turn to Todd and say, "I do _not_! I only wear Dave's shirt _three _days a week, you cunt."

Todd spoons some of today's school lunch into his mouth, nodding in agreement. With his mouth still full, he replies, "Yeah, dude. She wears another one of Dave's shirts the other days of the week."

I roll my eyes and take a sip of my Mountain Dew. "Whatever, you two," I say dismissively, slamming the soda back down onto the table. "Anyway, have you guys heard anything about him lately?"

Regularly, I ask these two goons about Dave. Like always, I get nothing out of them, which shouldn't surprise me anymore, but it does. I feel like they're all keeping something from me, something dark and disturbing. It's as if Dave's committed a series of gruesome murders that they can't bear to tell me about, or that he's been put away in an insane asylum because he's a crazy freak. I hate how they act like there's something to hide.

"Mindy," Marty starts, "If we knew something, wouldn't we tell you?"

"No," I reply.

They both just look at each other and shake their heads, as if they're disappointed in me or something.

"You two are useless," I tell them. "I'm gonna go get some fresh air. I can't be around you when you're like this."

Tossing my empty Mountain Dew can at Todd, I get up and walk away from the table, making my way towards the cafeteria doors. On my way there, though, I trip over something and fall flat on my face. I try and get myself up before I'm rudely kicked back down to the ground.

Another problem in my life is bullying. Every day I have to deal with the emotional and physical torment that the jock assholes here at my school dish out. Though, I can't give the credit for all of this to them. What they're doing isn't what they want; they're doing what Ms. Katie Deuxma wants.

Yes, she's the bitch that controls these asshats. She tells them to torture me because, not only does she hate me for stealing Dave away from her, she blames me for every other problem in her life, whether or not the problem even has to do with me or not. I know what a cliche antagonist she's sounding like; I know she sounds like the typical queen bitch. But...that's because she totally is.

Now, don't go telling me I could stop the torment. I wish I could. I mean, I _can_, but I _can't. _I can't do to them what they do to me. In a place like this, people like them have more power than me. Fighting back- with hitting, I mean- would do nothing for me.

"Hey Mindy! Nice shirt! Steal it from my boyfriend?"

Scowling, I manage to get up this time. Once I do, I stand directly in front of Katie, menacingly snarling at her. "No, actually, _my _boyfriend gave it to me after he fucked me," I reply.

Katie scowls back at me. "The only reason he would ever want to fuck you would be because he couldn't get me."

I roll my eyes. "That would _totally _explain why he cheated on you with me," I respond, a smile breaking out on my face as I see her get even angrier, my own rage almost completely gone at the sight of her looking like such an idiot.

"Whatever, you little whore. Just remember that I'm not the one who drove him away," she tells me, leaning in close, trying to be intimidating. A couple of guys behind her start snickering, and she turns around and scowls at them. They back away after that, leaving only her and I, standing in the middle of the cafeteria.

I feel the stares of many of our peers burning into us, watching as we stand there, glaring into each other's eyes with hatred filling the empty space between us. We stand there for a couple of minutes, just looking at each other. Then, after a couple of minutes, I just walk away with no other words.

As I do, I feel something vibrating in my back pocket. Like the blonde I am, I freak out for a second before realizing that it's just my phone.

"You're such an idiot," I mutter to myself. "Damn. It's just a fucking text message."

I pull out my phone, my fingers tightly grasping the Kick-Ass phone case I bought from Amazon. As I get it out, it vibrates again and I sigh loudly in annoyance. "Fuck, okay, I'm trying, you stupid fucker!" I tell the air, pretending like it's the person who texted me.

Unlocking my phone and going to my messages, I expectantly look at the phone, waiting for the message to appear. It does, and I click on it, my eyes scanning the words.

After that, everything starts to happen in slow motion. I drop the phone, and it floats through the air for a few minutes before tumbling to the ground. I can only watch as it lands on the white tiled floor, unable to do anything but stare with my hands covering my mouth to suppress a screen. I slump to the ground, suppressing a sob, with the phone still laying there on the ground, still displaying the message and its sender:

**Message received at: 12:37 PM**

**From: Dave (AKA your boyfriend)**

**Message:**

**I know where your boyfriend is. **

**I have him.**

**And I'm not giving him up, Hit-Girl.**

* * *

><p><strong>(AN: Hey guys! I was really glad you guys liked the first chapter, so I decided to post the second one as soon as possible. It just took me a couple more days than I thought it would to write it. Anyway, PLEASE tell me what you thought! See you next chapter!)**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

_**"Maybe we're meant to lose the ones we love but I'll fight for you till then, and if they stole you from me, [at least] on my arm there's a tattoo of your name. I've broken bones for you, and for you only. Give me your heart and your hand and we can run."- Million Dollar Houses, Pierce The Veil**_

**Mindy's POV**

_"Dave, please, don't make me do this," I plead, widening my eyes to make myself look cuter. "Please. I'll do whatever you want if you don't make me do this. _Please._"_

_Dave puts both of his hands on my face, cupping it. "C'mon, Min. It's not that scary. I promise. It can't be as scary as meeting your dad. By the way, why couldn't he come?"_

_I ignore his last question. "It is that scary! You don't know how scary this is! I have to meet everyone in your family. _Everyone. _At Thanksgiving dinner. This is gonna be so embarrassing. They're all gonna hate me..." I tell him. _

_He gives me a quick kiss, nothing too heated. "Min. Trust me. They're gonna love you because you're you. Okay?"_

_I give him a small smile. "Okay."_

_We walk into his house after that, and we're greeted by his aunts, uncles, dad, and cousins. Everyone I meet gives me a huge hug, and I can't help but blush at all of them. Like Dave said, everyone ends up loving me, and we're all having a great time, laughing. All of the women ask stupid beauty questions about my makeup and dress, and all of the men tell me what a sweet girl I am. Despite these things, which I find a little annoying, it's still really, very incredibly fun._

_Soon enough, it's time to say what we're thankful for. Many of Dave's family members tell us about how thankful they are for their homes, their jobs, and other stupid shit like that. Dave's father says that he is grateful for his wonderful son. Dave says nothing like that. He says:_

_"Well, I guess I'm thankful for a lot of the same things you guys are. Money, food,shelter, family. But there's one thing that I'm very, very grateful for; my girlfriend Mindy," Dave says, turning to me, "I'm grateful for you because you're everything I've ever needed and wanted, everything I want in a woman. You're amazing, and beautiful, and perfect. I'm thankful for you Mindy Macready. I love you."_

_I smile at him as everyone 'awws' over his little speech. I feel blush tinting my cheeks as people all look at me. That's when I realize it's my turn to say something. I sit, speechless, for a couple of minutes until finally coming up with something to say._

_"Uhm..so uhm..yeah, I'm Dave's girlfriend," I begin awkwardly, "as you all know. I guess I'm thankful for...Dave. Dave, when we met, I never thought we'd fall in love. But then, you started being there for me. You were the one I went to when I cried. I am so thankful for that. And when we fell in love, it only got better. I felt so complete when you finally broke up with your girlfriend and said that I was the one you wanted. You just...you make me feel like I'm perfect, when you're the perfect one. I still don't understand how you put up with me, but I'm thankful that you do. I love you more than you can ever imagine, my Dave. Thank you for giving me a love that's gonna last forever."_

_..._

_ People tell us we had bad timing. Daddy said it, Marcus said it, Todd and Marty said it; even Dave's own father told us. They told us that we were kind of stupid for getting together when we did. I always denied it, always told them that it's always a bad time to fall in love; I told them love is unconvienient, anyway._

_ But, they were right. At the time we started dating, Chris D'Amico had just started getting his shit together. He was ready to attack, but we were too lovesick to do anything about it. We really were quite oblivious to the fact that something serious was going on. We didn't notice it until it was too late; many people had already died by the time we noticed. But, we did get to fight him before he struck out at any of us. He ended up falling into a shark tank at the end of it. I was sure he died,but word's gotten out that he's alive. I'm not too sure if those rumors are true or not..._

_ Anyway, that's not the point. The point is, we fell in love at a bad time. But, we fought through it. Every arguement we had over Chris was easily solved, because we both knew that our relationship meant too much, that we couldn't lose it all because of Chris D'Amico. We got through it together, and we fought side by side, like we always do. Even Daddy was brought of us, which is a rarity these days. But, who couldn't admire the way we stuck to each other, the way we killed for each other?_

...

"Mindy? Are you okay?"

I blink back more tears as I walk down the halls, not wanting anyone to see the feelings I'm desperately trying to hide. Since the incident in the cafeteria that I've unsucessfully tried to get everyone to forget about, everyone's been staring at me in a way that makes me feel self consious. I've tried to avoid their gazes by looking down whenever I walk by someone, but I can still feel their eyes burning into me, boring themselves staring into my sould.

"Uhm, yeah. I'm fine," I tell Marty dismissively as I walk into my english class. "I'll uhm, see you after class."

As I sit down in my seat, I hear everyone around me start to snicker and whisper. I try and pretend they're not there as I take out my notebook, which contains more scribbles than any actual work. Turning to the back of it, I smile as I look at all of the little words and phrases that are carved into it. One of them is a heart that has _D+M= LOVE _ carved into the middle of it. Another one says _KA+HG, _which makes me feel really stupid for writing it on my notebook. There's even one that says, _I LOVE DAVE LIZEWSKI. _ Laughing at myself for writing all of these things, I turn it back over to the front so I can do today's work.

I try and try to focus on the work, but my thoughts are somewhere else; they're on Dave, of course. Who could've sent me that message? I mean, I know it was from Dave's phone, but, who has his phone? Who could've taken him and texted me from his phone? _Chris D'Amico? Well, he's dead, isn't he? I mean, he could be alive, but..._

"Macready!"

I jump and look up at my teacher, my cheeks a flaming red. "Uhm, sorry. Yes?"

Ms. Wallace's grey eyes bore into me accusingly as she replies, "I asked you a question. Where was that pretty little head of yours this time? La-la land? Oz?" My classmates laugh as she says that, and I feel myself turn even redder.

Fighting the urge to punch her, I say, "Oh, uhm, I'm sorry. I just-"

"Whatever. You can answer that question after school tomorrow, during detention."

Feeling my shame turn into anger and annoyance, I roll my eyes. Luckily, she doesn't catch me doing so, or else I would have been given another day of detention.

Ms. Wallace is the kind of teacher that can be nice, but one that can also be a real bitch when she needs to. Though she stands at 5'7 feet tall, has stick straight black hair and grey eyes that look like small stones, everyone claims that something about her seems inviting, even though she really isn't all that warm and fuzzy inside. Everyone says she looks and acts really sweet, but all she's ever been to me is a bitch, really.

"Okay," she says after giving me an icy, mean glare, "today, I want you to write about a time when you lost something you loved. Explain in detail what that particular thing meant to you, and tell me about how you felt when you lost it."

_What a relatable topic._

...

"Alright, fucko! What do you know about Kick-Ass?"

The guy I'm holding over the edge of the rooftop screams that he doesn't know anything about Dave, and I'm tempted to let his body go and watch as he splatters on the ground, but something within me keeps me holding him there. Not only is dropping him tempting; it's becoming something that might happen by accident, due to the forceful, strong winds that blow purple strands of hair in my eyes and threaten to take us both over the edge.

"I swear, I don't know anything! Please, Hit-Girl!" The guy pleads before letting out another sob. I almost- _almost- _let pity come and make me set him free, but I force the feelings of sympathy and humanity back down so I can keep interrogating him.

"Are you sure? Because that's not what you said earlier!"

I guess I should explain how I got into this situation. You see, I was just out on patrol, mindining my own buisness and looking for some cocks to kill, when all of a sudden this random guy yells out, "Hey Hit-Girl! You miss Kick-Ass?"

So, being the person I am, I kicked the crap out of him and dragged him to this rooftop, where I plan to interrogate him until he cracks.

"I was just joking! PLEASE!"

Raising my eyebrows, even though he can't see me do so, I say, "Oh really? So you know absoultely _nothing _about Kick-Ass?"

"NO! I ALREADY TOLD YOU THAT! _PLEASE!_" He screams, causing a giggle to come out of my mouth. I love laughing at bad people's pain.

"Then how'd you know he was missing? And if you're so innocent, what were you doing hanging around in the alley, looking pretty fucking guilty?" I say accusingly, trying to smother another laugh.

I really love doing this. I have since I was little. I mean, being Hit-Girl is one of the most amazing things in my life. Not only do I get to put the worst people in the world in the ground, I get to feel like I have a purpose; a reason for being alive. Dave's always told me that the need for a purpose was one of his main reasons for putting on the mask, and I've always thought that it was a pretty stupid reason; until I began to understand that when you have nothing, the mask is all you have, the _only _reason for being alive instead of just being _one _of them. Does that make sense? Do you understand what this means to us? Well, I'm pretty sure only a superhero would understand, but doesn't everyone have something that gives them a reason to keep going, to keep fighting?

"I just heard from a friend that he was missing, H-hit-Girl," the guy stutters. "And uhm, I was only in the alley because I was meeting some guy-"

I cut him off. "What guy? Did _he _have anything to do with Kick-Ass?"

"I don't know! He's just my supplier, I swear! I don't know anything about Kick-Ass! I swear to G-d I don't know!" He shouts at me.

Sighing, I decide to trust him. Using all of my strength, I heave him up and over the edge so that he no longer is hanging off the building. I can practically _feel _the weight being lifted off his shoulders; that's how clearly you can see the relief in his face. I laugh again at the sight of him lying there on the roof, panting, his face pale.

"Thank you," he says after taking a deep breath, "For not killing me, I mean. I've heard you're pretty brutal."

I roll my eyes. "I am. I just felt like saving your life because on some level, I might actually believe you. Not only that. I'm a fucking mess right now. Trust me, if I wasn't so emotionally fucked up right now, you'd be nothing but a fucking bloodstain by now."

He manages to get to his feet after a couple of seconds, trying to act calm, though, I can tell he's still panicked. "Thanks anyway. Look, I'm sorry I was making fun of your partner before. I just...I didn't think you'd be so serious."

"He's not my partner. He's my boyfriend, you cock," I tell him, though I have no idea as to why I would be telling this fucker something like that.

"Oh. I just...I thought it was just a rumor. I mean, word's been goin' around that you two are dating, but...I didn't believe it. I mean, why would someone like you fall for someone like him?" He says.

Walking over to him, I slap him, hard. Then, grabbing him by the collar, I lift him up in the air and glare daggers at him for asking something so stupid. "First of all, you shouldn't go around asking people like me questions like that. Especially when those questions are about someone they love. Second, our love story is none of your buisness. It's nobody's business but ours. Got it?"

His face goes pale again as he nods, and I drop him in disgust after he does so. Sighing, I ask, "So is there anything you wanna tell me?"

"No," he says quickly.

I pull out one of my combat knifes and, getting him in a headlock, hold it against his throat. "I'm gonna ask you again, because I feel like you're not telling me the truth. Is there anything you wanna tell me, you stupid cunt?"

He takes several minutes to reply, and with each minute that he keeps quiet, I press the knife harder against his throat. "You _do _know something!" I yell. "TELL ME! NOW!"

"Ok, OK! I may know this guy who might know something about Kick-Ass! But-"

"WHO?!" I demand, my voice shrill and loud. I don't care how stupid I probably sound right now; all I care about is finding out as much as I can about Dave.

He squirms in my arms, and I only hold him tighter. After attempting to escape, he sighs before stopping his attempts when I squeeze him tighter. "OK! His name is Roman. I can't remember a last name, but...he's a short guy, maybe only about 5'5. Uhm...he's tan, with black hair and deep brown eyes. He hangs out in the alley behind that little store called...fuck, what's it called..." he trails off. Again, he takes too long to answer, and this time I make a tiny little slice on his neck.

"Give me a fuckin' minute! I'm trying to remember the name...it's called Donny's, I think. It's a little store that sells guns and shit, I think. It's near Central Park. He hangs out there in the evenings, after it gets dark. He says he just supplies drugs but he's into some darker shit, I think..." The guy says.

I roll my eyes in annoyance and frustration. "I don't care if Hitler does his taxes or if he's getting fucked by Justin Bieber! I just want to know what the fuck he said about my fucking boyfriend, you stupid fucker!" I yell.

"Damn, OK! He said that he heard someone say that Chris D'Amico has your boyfriend. But, he's dead, so I'm not sure how reliable that information is...Anyway, that's all I know! Please, don't kill me!" the guy trails off yet again.

I feel something in me burst. Chris D'Amico? Could he really be behind this? Or is this just bullshit?

I finally decide to let the poor guy go, but not before saying a few words to him. "Okay, look. I'm gonna let you go now, because you claim you've told me all you know. But if I EVER see or hear from you again, I _will _kill you! Got it, buddy?"

The guy-whose name I never learned-nods and runs away. I sigh before feeling something buzz in my pocket. Again, it's only my phone. I try and brace myself for more tears and hurt before opening it.

**2 NEW MESSAGES**

**Message received at 7:27 PM**

**From: Daddy**

**Message:**

**Head home now, babydoll. I don't want you out too late tonight. Sorry, but you've got school tomorrow.**

**-Daddy**

I sigh in relief before reading the other message, thinking it's just another one from daddy.

**1 UNREAD MESSAGE**

**Message received at 7:28 PM**

**From: Dave (AKA your boyfriend)**

**Message:**

**Hey Hit-Girl! I saw you talking to my dealer, Ringo. Isn't he the cutest little fucker? I know he can be annoying, sometimes, but I need him. PLEASE don't hang him off of buildings anymore, sweetheart. It'd be bad for my business.**

**BTW, I find it cute how desperately you're searching for that dumbass boyfriend of yours. But, you're searching in the wrong places, darlin'. Maybe you should check a little closer to home. You'll be surprised at what you find within your own apartment. **

**Well, this message has gone on long enough. I'll talk to you later! xoxoxo :3 :3 :)**

I almost throw my phone off the building after I read that one. But, it unnerves me more than it angers me. I mean, it implies that someone has been watching me. And knows my every move. And is STILL watching me. It's crazy how scared this makes me. Mainly because I never really _get _scared.

This message is fucked up. It's telling me I'm wrong, that everything I know is wrong, that everything I've done so far is wrong. But I _can't _be wrong. Aren't I closer to Dave than ever? How could I be wrong?

But, what really unnerves me is the way these messages are being sent through Dave's phone. I mean, that's proof that he/she/they have him. It doesn't make the search any easier for me, though.

Anyway, I've anylzed all of that and I've come up with no new information but this:

I've got a killer after me whom I'm supposed to be after. A killer and a stalker, someone whose probably very crazy, but someone whose very brilliant; someone whose telling me that they're not the killer, that the killer is someone whose close to me, someone I know.

How the fuck am I supposed to figure this all out?

* * *

><p><strong>(AN: Thanks for reading everyone! I know updates are coming frequently, and I'm actually really proud of myself for keeping myself on track with this fic. I guess it's just my easiest fic to write! Anyway, PLEASE tell me what you thought. It doesn't have to be in a review. You can PM me or email me if you wish. Well, I hope you guys enjoyed. See you next time!)**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

_**"It's like I've been awakened; every rule I had, you're breaking. It's the risk that I'm taking, and I'm never gonna shut you out. Every where I'm looking now, I'm surrounded by your embrace. Baby, I can see your halo; you know you're my saving grace. You're everything I need and more."- Halo, Ane Brun and Linnea Olsson**_

_"Close your eyes." _

_I do as I'm told, and put my hands over my eyes to assure him that I can't see anything. A burst of girlish laughter bubbles up inside of me as I wonder what my boyfriend's up to, daring to peek through the veil of my hands, only to have another pair brought down over my eyes again. "I'm gonna open my eyes and you're gonna be naked, aren't you?" I ask, trying to see through Dave's hands. _

_"Don't peek; I had you close your eyes for a reason, you know," Dave tells me. He sighs. "I'm gonna have to keep my hands over your face to keep you from looking, aren't I?"_

_I let a little bit of laughter escape. "No. Come on, you dumbass. Just let me see! It's my sixteenth birthday! I deserve to see what my present is!"_

_Finally, Dave takes his hands off my eyes, and I open them to reveal...a brown paper bag that reads, _Joe's Gun Shop. _I feel disappointment threatening to reveal itself on my face (I mean, what kind of boyfriend buys his girlfriend a _gun _for her birthday, the exact same gift her dad got her?- not that I don't love guns- I was just expecting something more romantic), but I put a smile on for Dave's sake. _

_"Another gun," I half-heartedly say with a wide (fake) smile on my face. "I wonder what kind it is."_

_Dave just stands there, smirking. "Well, go see for yourself. I promise you you'll love it."_

_I walk towards the bag, and rip through layers of wrapping paper and tissue paper, desperately trying to get to the bottom of the bag. It's a while before I get there- Dave's put so much damn paper in the thing that it takes me at least ten minutes to dig through it. Finally,I find what I'm looking for. _

_Well, not quite._

_"Dave...what's this?" _

_I look at my boyfriend with wide eyes, waiting for his reply, holding the gift in my hand. The small velvet box sits on my palm with my fingers wrapped around it, wanting to open it but not finding the strength to do so._

_"Open it and find out," he says with that playful smirk still on his face._

_Cautiously, I open the box, lifting the top and bracing myself for something special. And there it is. It's a perfect little heart-shaped locket with carvings on it, carvings that say: _I love you, Mindy. _I feel a tear slide down my cheek as I smile and open it to reveal two pictures of Dave and I, in which we both look the happiest we've ever been. _

_Not even a minute passes before I let myself throw my arms around him. "Oh my G-d! It's so cheesy and pefect!" I exclaim. "I thought you'd gotten me a gun or something. Oh my G-d. I love you, Dave. Thank you, it's perfect!"_

_Dave puts his owm arms around me. "You're perfect."_

_"You're such a fucking moron," I say before pressing my lips to his for a second. "Thanks again. I love you."_

_"I love you too, Mindy," Dave whispers in my ear. "I always have."_

_..._

_ It's not easy to find a missing person. _

_ It's actually one of the hardest things I've ever had to do, something that's taken more out of me than anything else. Trying to find Dave has taken pieces of my mind, pieces of my heart, pieces of my soul; pieces of my sanity. It's taken a lot out of me, probably a lot more than it should._

_ Parts of me wonder if I should be this worried. I mean, what if he did run off? What if he just got sick of me and decided he had to leave? I've realized that these are very real possibilites. Now that I've accepted that those things could be true, I kind of feel like giving up because it's just too hard, and he may not even be missing at all._

_ However, the stronger part of me yells at the doubtful part of me, screaming, "He is missing, you dumb whore! Go find him!" I love that part of me, the part that trusts him and that really does love him more than life. That part of me is the one working its hardest to find him; that part is the one that's making me keep fighting for him._

_ But again, it's not easy finding a missing person. Having yourself be at war inside makes it even harder..._

_..._

"Is something wrong, babydoll? You've hardly touched your food."

I glare daggers at my father. Though I must have explained to him a billion times that I'm this depressed because of my missing boyfriend, it's like every time I tell him, he forgets the minute after. I've finally decided to just stop trying to tell him. I don't want to mention the subject of Dave around him anymore.

But, I just can't stop thinking about that text I got earlier, the one saying that the person who took Dave is someone very close to me. Did they mean my dad? If they did, it would make a lot of sense. Yet, I can't just believe something some pyschopath told me over a text. Though, it's always safe to check- if I can actually work up the nerve to ask daddy anything.

"Just...sorry, daddy. Nothing's wrong," I lie, deciding not to ask him just yet. "I just had a bad day at school."

My father takes another bite of his pork chops and nods. "Oh, ok. I'm really worried about you. You've been...distant, lately."

Shaking my head, I say, "Don't worry about me. I'm fine."

"Are you sure?" he asks.

All of a sudden, I feel all of the emotions I've kept bottled up inside of me boil within me, turning into rage and accusations. I don't know what's caused my sudden mood change- maybe it's my fathers questions, his ignorance, his oblilviousness-, but what I do know is that I'm suddenly very angry with my dad.

"Did you kill Dave?"

There's a loud sound, the sound of my father dropping his fork onto his plate, a sound that's painful to hear. He sighs, and puts his head in his hands, almost looking guilty, with his hardened, mysterious eyes and his thin line for a mouth. He shakes his head, but whether this action is in disbelief or in denial is unknown to me. "What?" He asks, looking back up at me.

I look into his green eyes that resemble mine and ask again. "Did you kill Dave?" My voice, shaky, continues to be heard as I ask more questions. "Did you kidnap him? Or drive him away? Or-or...just, did you have _anything _to do with this?"

Daddy looks at me with wide eyes. "Are you seriously asking me this question?"

"Oh, so _now _you remember who he is, all of a sudden?" I ask accusingly, daring to bore my eyes into his, looking for something within them that will reveal something about Dave. "_Now _you know who he is? Well, that's convienient, isn't it? You remembered just in time, didn't you?"

"Mindy, first of all, I am not some piece of shit lowlife who you can just talk to like that. I am your father, and I want you to talk to me with respect," he orders, "Second of all, you know I'm old. You know my memory is slipping. Often I can't remember things, like this boyfriend you've conjured up. Third of all-"

"What do you mean, 'this boyfriend I've conjured up?' Are you saying that I _made up-_" I try to say.

My father exhales loudly, cutting me off. "Mindy, it's a very real possibility that you imagined him. You do know that, right? I mean, think about it. None of us can remember anything about him. Marcus and the police have no records of him. His own two best friends have nothing to say about him. Doesn't that tell you anything? "

I can't even reply this time; but, it's not because I have no comeback for his statement- it's because I can't believe that he's saying this. How could I have _imagined _my boyfriend? Is that even possible? I mean, I know he was real. All of those kisses, all of those kind words, all of those make out sessions and all of those times I had sex with him-they couldn't have been made up. Could they? I hate how my father is making me doubt everything, and I really hate the way he's trying to take my reality and twist it into something dark so that everything but him will seem perfect.

"Mindy?"

My gaze goes up from my plate to the eyes of my father again. "Yes, dad?"

"I"m sorry. I just-"

I stop him before it can get any worse, using more lies (well, I don't know if they're lies- maybe half truths is the right word?) to keep him from telling me more bullshit. "No, daddy. It's OK. You don't need to explain yourself to me. I know you didn't kill him. I just needed someone to blame."

He smiles. "Ok, honey. I'm sorry we had a fight."

"It's fine," I say dismissively, trying to keep myself from demanding answers from him. I try and bottle up my anger, getting it out of my system, saving it for later. I can't afford to be angry at him anymore- my anger would only cause more lies, more bullshit, and more excuses.

Reaching over the dining room table to give me a hug, I feel my heart break a little as he gives me a quick squeeze. I feel something in me snapping, twisting, breaking, and it makes me want to cry. Because, now, I've reached that age where "daddy" isn't "daddy" anymore; he's just "my father" now. I've finally gotten to that stage of being a teenager where I hate my parents- or at least, dislike my parent for one reason or another.

You see, I don't want to dislike him. I want to be the kind of girl that trusts her father, that has nothing to hide from her father; I want to be the girl I once was- I want to be daddy's little princess again. But I know that I can't be that person anymore, because now I've created a rift between us, a wall. Even though it makes me sad to admit this, to have this be a reality, I know that it had to happen. It's part of life, I guess.

G-d, did that sound adult-ish, or what?

Anyway, I'm sorry to admit these things, but I'm even sorrier to admit something else.

I'm sorry to say that Damon Macready is now my number one suspect.

...

I hear his voice in my dreams. Dave's. He's the star of my sick, twisted nightmare that leaves me sobbing and scared in the middle of the night.

It starts by showing me a gruesome scene in which Dave is being tortured by my father. I'm forced to watch, unable to tear my eyes away as my father uses a knife, a needle, a chainsaw, and a machete to hack off limbs and body parts from Dave. But, it doesn't stop there; it gets worse. All of a sudden Chris D'Amico comes out and helps torture him. Again, all I can do is watch while this happens. Once again, it doesn't stop there; the absolute worst thing ever happens after that.

Katie (that fucking slutty cunt/bitch/fucker/whore who dated Dave) suddenly enters the scene, dressed like a stripper (don't ask why I dreamed her up like this- I guess I just _know _that she'll end up being a hooker when she grows up). My boyfriend, who is, by this time, a limp mess of blood and guts in the chair, gets very, very happy. I watch as she walks over to my happy boyfriend and starts fucking making out with him. I watch as he enjoys it and starts taking off her fucking clothes. And that's about all I can take, and the next thing you know, I'm yelling:

"What the fuck, Dave?! I'm right here, you know!"

The two stop their sloppy kissing to look at me, boring black beady eyes into my own, which are their normal shade, the colors standing out amongst these weird versions of people I know, who have black snake eyes. Dave's own black eyes are filled with hate as he says, "What? You should know that I don't love you anymore."

These words, of course, make my fucking heart break into two pieces. "What?" Is all I'm able to ask weakly.

He rolls those eyes of his. "Mindy. Come on. At least Katie tried to find me. You didn't do anything. You sat back and watched and accused the wrong people of killing me. You were too stupid to find me, so I just decided I didn't love you anymore. You don't deserve my love anymore. You don't even deserve to live."

That's when he shoots me. _BANG! BANG! _Then, I have to die with the image of him and Katie making out still fresh in my mind, taunting me...

Then I wake up just as I die with a scream trapped in my throat. I release it as I bolt upright in bed, but instead of the scream coming out of my mouth as a scream, it's a sob. I try and hold it in, but it ends up coming out as loudly as it fucking can, and soon enough my dad's running into my room, trying to calm me. I don't push him away as I would have done earlier; instead I let him hug me and try to soothe me. It doesn't work, and I have to beg him for a tranquilizer (which I'll let him think I want so I can knock myself out), which he doesn't give me.

"Sweetheart-" he begins.

"Daddy, please. I can't sleep without it. He haunts me. I can hear his screaming in my mind and I need it, Daddy. I _need _something to put me to sleep or else I'm gonna be up all night, sobbing over him," I beg, not too sure if what I'm telling him is truth or not. I know some of it is, but the part about me wanting to get back to sleep is not. I don't want that tranq so I can knock myself out. I'm too scared the nightmares'll come back to do _that_; I want it so I can drug _him. _It's not that I'm not traumatized by my dream; I am- I'm just trying to use it to my advantage.

He sighs heavily. "Ok, I'll get you some pills and we can have some hot cocoa," he finally agrees, probably too tired to argue.

"No!" I exclaim a bit too loudly. "I mean, no. I'll make it."

Without hearing his reply, I run to the kitchen and pull out two mugs from the cupboard. Then, I get two packets of hot cocoa and dump them in the cups, but in Daddy's, I put some of my sleeping pills, which will dissolve once I put hot milk in the cups. Smiling sadly at my evil plan, I put the milk in and watch the pills disappear, then finish making each cup, putting fluffy pink marshmellows in each one.

Once I get back to my room, I hand Daddy his mug (which is different from mine so that I don't accidentally get the one with the drugs in it) and sit down next to him on my bed, waiting for him to take a sip.

He's knocked out in less than a minute after his first gulp of the sweet, dark liquid. He awkwardly falls onto the bed, asleep, dropping his mug on my bedroom's wooden floor. Muttering the word "fuck" as the cocoa drops and stains my little rug, I bend over to pick it up, but quickly notice another stain on the rug- a deep, dark, red one.

_Is this blood? _

I flick on the light to get a better look at it, and drop to all fours, crawling around on the floor. I look at it again and again, my eyes scanning the deep reddish-brown stain. It's the deformed shape of a circle with roughly smeared edges. Obviously, someone bled- a lot- and tried to scrub it up but failed horribly. The blood is dark and smeared and crusted, but it's fresh. Someone bled here recently. _In my room. _

Just as this thought dawns on me, as I shudder, disturbed, my phone starts buzzing, yet again. I sigh, already knowing who it is. It's the psychopath who has Dave's phone, obviously. Who else would be texting me in the middle of the night?

**1 UNREAD MESSAGE**

**Message received at 2:39 AM**

**From: Dave (AKA your boyfriend)**

**Message:**

**Oh, Mindy. What a dumb girl you are.**

**You really think Ol' Daddy dear could've taken your boyfriend? No, no, no. Don't you think he's a too old and too disabled to do that? Seriously, you dumb little slut. His legs. Do you really think his legs would be able to handle all of that hard work? Do you honestly think he could kill Dave, clean it up, drag the body somewhere, and do all the dirty work? No, no, NO. You're so, so stupid, and so, SO wrong.**

**Oh, darling dear...how are you ever going to figure this out? You're still looking in the wrong places, pointing fingers at the wrong people. You're so dumb. You're gonna need another hint, aren't you?**

**Before I tell you this hint, you need to consider the fact that I might be lying. But then again, if I was a lier, how would I know so much and how would I have Dave's phone?**

**I'm gonna email you the next hint. It should be in your inbox in a couple of seconds. Anyway, reply via email. It's getting to hard to type this much from a phone. **

**I'll be watching you :) Expect my email! :) :-D**

I roll my eyes and check my email as soon as I read the message, not at all surprised that the psychopath is using Dave's email, too.

**1 NEW EMAIL **

**From: Comicbooknerdguy1995 gmail**

**Msg:**

**The hint:**

**What's oblivious, dumb, and shares something with your boyfriend? YOUR NEXT SUSPECT!**

**-"Dave"**

I finish reading the email only to find that tears have spilled out of the corners of my eyes and are now sliding down my cheek. Wiping them away quickly, I try and think about who my 'next suspect' could be. I have to give it a great deal of thought, mostly due to the fact that my brain isn't really functioning right now and my thoughts are all muddled. It's funny how a minute ago, everything was clear and I knew what I was going to do. Now, I'm just confused and frustrated.

Looking down at the dried smears of blood on my rug, I try and figure out the clue piece by piece. There's that first word that troubles me so much; oblivious. Almost everyone I know fits that description: oblivious. All of my friends and family members are exactly that, so that word doesn't narrow it down.

Then there's that second word; dumb. Much like the word 'oblivious', this word applies to a lot of people I know. There's everyone at my school- they're all morons. But, why would _they _want anything to do with Dave?

This is the hard part about this kind of thing. I have no idea who's who anymore, or who's what. How am I supposed to know who's considered 'dumb' or 'oblivious'? This is so vague, and so fucking stupid. I hate this. But, I'm gonna keep doing it, because I'd do anything for Dave, and obviously, this stupid psycho knows that.

Suddenly, I become too tired to do anything else. I forget about whatever I wanted to do, and I forget about the hint and my nightmare; all I can think about is my sudden exhaustion. I sigh, and put my phone on my desk, not even caring that it's buzzed twice since I've tried to figure out that stupid hint. Walking over to my bed, I flop down onto it and get under the covers, which is hard to do, because Daddy is still lying on top of them.

"Goodnight, Daddy," I murmur before taking a sip of his drugged cocoa and being pulled back into sleep, where I never really wanted to be in the first place.

...

**THE NEXT DAY**

"He was always the sweetest little kid," Mr. Lizewski says, "so polite, so quiet, so nice. He was always reading a comic book or watching some new superhero cartoon. His mother and I, we always tried to get him to socialize, to talk to more people, to get out more. But no, he told us that Todd and Marty were all he needed and that he was perfectly happy." He pauses to take a sip of his coffee, a strong, dark brew that I've prepared for him. "You see, Mindy, what I'm trying to show you is that he was- I mean, _is_- a nice, likeable, kind, goodhearted boy. I just don't understand why anyone would want to hurt him- and you."

I nod and take a sip of my own coffee, which, unlike his, is sweetened with lots of cream and sugar added in. "Yeah. I know. I mean, he's just so sweet, and smart, and kind, and hot- nevermind. You get the point, right?"

Mr. Lizewski laughs. "Yes, I do."

Laughing with him, I allow my eyes to travel all over his kitchen, where I've spent all morning. I look for more clues, more things that could tell me where Dave is. Finding nothing that catches my eye, I go back to looking at Dave's dad.

"So, what'd you come over for, Mindy?"

I blink innocently, trying to be nonchalant while I come up with me answer. I'm not sure what to tell him- I mean, it's not like we hang out every day or anything. I can't actually tell him the truth. _Oh, y'know, I just came over to invade your privacy and look through your shit just to make sure you didn't murder your son. Would that be okay?_

"Uh, well," I begin, "I just, uh, came over for some coffee, for a good talk. We haven't talked in a while, so..."

"Oh," Mr. Lizewski replies. "Sorry. It's just, you know, I'm not used to seeing you this often anymore. You've been...'busy' lately." He says, putting the quotes around the word _busy. _

I know that he knows what I've been up to. He's not stupid, you know; he's figured out that Dave and I are Kick-Ass and Hit-Girl. I guess you could say he tolerates the idea of us being vigilantes, but isn't too fond of it. He's got a better attitude about it than Marcus, but that isn't really saying much. When his son went missing, he blamed the fact that Dave is Kick-Ass; he said that the costume he wore had cost him his son, and that if he ever sees Dave again, he'll beg him to quit. I replied by saying that if we ever do get Dave back, I won't really care whether he quits or not; all I'll care about is having him back.

I sigh. "Yeah, I have been busy. I'm just trying to do whatever I can do get him back," I explain. "It's just bothering me how the cops are doing nothing to help him."

Dave's father nods. "Mmhm. You'd think that with your father's friend Marcus on the force, they'd be doing everything they can to get them back."

Nodding again, I tell him that I think they _should _be doing that, before asking him if I can use his restroom when I remember why I'm really there. He nods and points at the door at the end of the hall, as if I'm some stranger rather than a girl who's been to his house at least a hundred times.

I leave the kitchen and walk to the stairs, where pictures of Dave are lined up on the walls. I look at all of them, smiling at all of Dave's adorable little faces, which are framed by his thick, curly hair. I'm still smiling, even as I approach the bathroom.

I enter and close the door behind me, then lock it, just to ensure that nobody accidentally walks in. Then, I start my work. I look through each cabinet, every place where a murder weapon or a bit of evidence could be found. I check everywhere I possibly can, just to be sure that Mr. Lizewski is not a suspect. I'm almost done checking under the sink, almost sure that Dave's father is in the clear. At least, until, I find something.

It's something hard to find, something unseen to the eye, unless you'd been looking for it. I stumble across it by mistake while searching for evidence, actually. It's a small opening in the wall, under the sink. I accidentally put my hand through it, and come out with a bloody finger.

"What the fuck...?" I whisper, examining my bloody finger. Wiping some of the blood off, I look for a small cut or an injury, but find nothing. Obviously, the blood isn't mine.

Putting my hand back in the opening, I feel around for something, and find a variety of small objects in the hole, which I pull out. Once I'm done pulling everything out, I look at the things on the floor.

A small bloody knife, a razor blade, and a single lock of curly hair.

* * *

><p><strong>(AN: Sorry this chapter was a week late! I'm just really behind on everything right now, and I'm having a hard time catching up. But, another update will come soon, so don't fret! Plus, this chapter was _really _long, the longest I've ever written (for fanfic, at least), so I hope that kind of makes up for the delay. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed. Please tell me what you thought in a review or PM. See you all next chapter!)**


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

_**"That little kiss you stole, it held my heart and soul, and like a deer in the headlights I meet my fate. Don't try to fight the storm; you'll tumble overboard, but the tides will bring me back to you. On my deathbed, all I see is you. The life may leave my lungs, but my heart will stay with you."- Deathbeds, Bring Me The Horizon**_

**Mindy's POV**

_I clasp my boyfriend's freezing hand tightly, as if it's a lifeline, the only thing keeping me alive. He squeezes my hand reassuringly, and after doing so, untangles his fingers from mine and instead puts his arm around me. I lean against him and close my eyes for a second just as a snowflake lands on my nose, chilling me. Shivering in the darkness and cold of this early winter morning, I find myself desperately wishing to be someone else and somewhere else- at least until this whole depressing thing is over._

_"I think we should be able to leave now," I whisper to my boyfriend. "He won't even notice we're gone."_

_"Mindy, that would be kind of rude," he replies. "I know this is pretty upsetting, but come on, your dad wants us here; he needs us here, whether you like that or not. Otherwise he wouldn't have invited us, right?"_

_I nod in agreement, knowing he's right. After that, we both turn to stare at my father, who kneels on my mothers grave, silently mourning, as he does every year on the anniversary of her death. I adjust my long sleeved, uncomfortable, plain black dress that falls to my ankles and turn to Dave with an unhappy frown slowly starting to show itself on my face. He leans down and presses his lips to mine, but pulls away after a short amount of time. He sighs when he sees that I'm still scowling._

_"Min, look, I know this is weird, but-" he tries to say._

_"No." I cut him off, trying to keep my voice quiet. "You have no fucking idea how fucking weird and creepy and depressing this is. I mean, this is my fucking father, the strongest superhero I know. And here he is, kneeling and crying and just fucking weirding me out. I don't like seeing my father sad,"I explain. "Well, I guess that doesn't make it weird. You see, what makes it weird is that he makes his daughter and her boyfriend dress up to reenact a fucking funeral with him."_

_Dave sighs again and removes his arm from where it sits on my shoulder. Then, he walks and stands in front of me, blocking the gloomy view of my father hugging my mother's gravestone. "He's still grieving and sad. Mindy, he loved your mother. A lot. Any idiot can see that. Losing her almost killed him. He was able to live through her death, but he's still carrying that grief with him. Can't you understand that?"_

_I scoff. "You're no expert on grief."_

_"I lost a mother too, remember?" Dave asks, pain finding its way into his voice. At the sound of it, I almost start crying. Hurting Dave hurts me; it brings a darkness over my emotions, making me unable to be happy, unable to do anything but be sad. It even hurts me physically, sometimes. However, before I can apologize for hurting him not only to lessen his pain, but to lessen mine as well, he speaks up again. _

_"Fuck, Min. Not only that. Every single night when we go out on patrol, and you almost die, I feel like I die, too. It hurts, you know, seeing you so close to death. When I see you staring into the barrel of a gun or having a knife pressed against your throat, I get so fucking scared," he tells me. _

_"But I live every time," I assure him. _

_"Still. Seeing you like that makes me think about losing you, and I just..." he pauses for a second, trying to find the right words to say. "I just can't lose you, okay? So just..don't...don't leave or die or get lost or anything, okay?"_

_I look at him and smile sadly. "Okay, Dave. But just listen. You're not going to lose me. I promise. I'll stay with you as long as I can and as long as you let me. I love you."_

_"I love you too," he whispers as he leans in to kiss me. "And I promise I won't leave you, either."_

_Suddenly, he's kissing me, right there in the middle of the cemetery, and I find myself thinking that everything is going to be okay. _

...

_ I hate it when people accuse him of running off, even though sometimes I find myself doing it as well. _

_ Often I find myself thinking about why people think he would take off like that. I guess that I've just been too blind to see that everyone else wasn't living in the little ball of perfection that we were living in. Maybe they saw something wrong with our relationship that we didn't. Maybe we were too blinded by the love we shared to notice that anything was wrong. It could really be either of those things; or so I've heard (at least from people who aren't trying to deny his existence)._

_ You see, I've heard people whisper these things when they think I'm not listening, for example: while walking through the hallway as people gossip about me, while talking to Marcus as he mutters these words under his breath, etc. Somehow it makes me angrier, because not only is what they're saying loud enough and obvious enough for me to hear; it's complete and utter bullshit._

_ I know he wouldn't take off. I know that- at least I'd like to believe that I know that. With a love like ours, there'd be no reason to leave. Wouldn't there? Now, if only I could get everyone else to see this. But that would mean that I'd have to find him, which so far, appears to be an impossible feat. However, I guess I'm getting closer to finding him, which means getting closer to having him back. _

_ That is if I can actually find out who the guy that's taken him is. My list of suspects is growing everyday, due to the amount of new evidence I've discovered. That list just keeps getting fucking bigger and bigger, and if it continues to lengthen, I'm never gonna be able to find out where my boyfriend is..._

...

I pick up each new bit of evidence carefully, not wanting to get my fingerprints on anything that I shouldn't. How awful would it be if I got my prints all over this shit and everyone thought _I _did it? That would be seriously, horribly fucked up.

Pulling a pair of gloves and a plastic baggie out of my little purse (that I carried only to store things that I could use if something like this happened), which sits on the floor next to me with its contents spilling from it, I sigh and use each item to pick up and store the new evidence. Once the razor, knife, and lock of hair is in the little, clear bag, I put it back in my purse, tucking it into a hidden pocket within the ugly, fashionable thing. Then, I sit down and put my head in my hands, sighing loudly. Though I only have a few more seconds to be in this bathroom, I lie down on the cool white tile as if I've got all the time in the world.

Closing my eyes, I try to keep calm and stop the thoughts that are swarming around inside my head. A dull ache starts in my head, giving me a bit more pain than I can take right now. As I bite my lip and try to force the pain to go away, I attempt to get my head straight and think about what the fuck has just happened.

This evidence has changed so much. It's made Mr. Lizewski a suspect, as impossibly ridiculous as that sounds. I know it's insane to assume that he'd kill/kidnap/harm his son, but I have to rule out everyone I can in order to find out who has my boyfriend. I can't just make myself forget that this ever happened and move on to the next person, because then if it were really him, I'd be totally fucked and he'd get away with it.

I sigh. I guess that's that; he's a suspect, and I'll have to deal with it and accept the fact that maybe some parents _could_ kill/harm their child in some way. That's just what I'll have to do.

I sit up and bite down on my lip, hard, as my headache starts to come on stronger, sending waves of pain through my brain. Finding my way to my feet, I grab my purse and flush the toilet to make it sound like I was actually using the bathroom. Then, I run the water and leave soap residue in the sink for the same reason. As the water shoots from the faucet, I look at myself in the mirror. My blonde hair, which is up in a ponytail, looks frizzy and dry. Green eyes in the mirror with dark, almost purple circles under them stare back at me. A pale, ghostly face is reflected in the mirror. The dry lips, and slouched figure don't help me look any better, either. _I look like a fucking drug addict. _

Sighing, I reach into my purse and pull out the makeup I've been carrying in case of a situation like this. After splashing water on my face, I apply the makeup and run a brush through my hair, just for the sake of appearances. I know that it's only natural to look stressed out when you _are _stressed out, but I can't afford to look pissed or stressed or tired. Looking like that will get me nothing but pity and lies. However, if I show off and look all pretty, people will _want _to help me. _Right? Doesn't everyone always want to help the pretty girl?_

I think about this as I exit the bathroom and walk back downstairs. I pass the pictures of Dave again that are hanging in the hallway, and at the sight of his youthful, smiling, happy face, I want to break down. I smile wearily at the photos and force myself to rejoin Mr. Lizewski in the kitchen.

It looks like he doesn't really care that I left at all. He sits there, his fingers clutching the handle of his mug of coffee, which cooled long ago and is no longer even lukewarm, grasping it so hard his knuckles turn white. His gaze isn't focused on anything but the kitchen table, and as I walk in, he doesn't even look up at me or greet me in any way. He simply stares at that table and gestures for me to come over and join him again. Quietly and cautiously, I slowly make my way towards the table and sit down in the chair across from Mr. L's. I wait for a second, because I know he's about to say something. I can tell when people are longing to say something; their mouth opens just a little, they clear their throat, and they tense up, preparing to make the sudden movement of the head in which they look up at you and glue their eyes on you in order to honestly and strongly present whatever it is they have to say.

Just as I knew he would, he does say something. "Mindy, do you ever think about...about Dave just taking off?" He asks, his voice quiet and unsure of itself.

His question makes my blood boil, and I feel myself wanting to punch him and scream something utterly defensive and profance at him. But somehow I manage to keep my calm. "I...I can't say that I don't," I reply in a voice that sounds forced, as if I had to reach into the back of my throat to grab the words or cut them out of my vocal chords just to get the statement out. "I do realize that it's a very real possibility. But then I think about how much he loved his life, and I want to...to slap myself for even thinking that he would dare to run away from it. I j-just...he wouldn't..." I trail off, my voice lowering to a pained whisper as that last word escapes my lips.

He reaches across the table to pat my hand, which sits limply on the marble surface. "I know, honey. It's terrible to think about. Just, sometimes, when I hear people screaming it at me or telling me that there's no other way he could be missing, I have no choice but to think about it, you know?"

I know what he's talking about. I'm pretty sure I've told you about having people whisper behind my back about Dave leaving. And, just like he said, hearing it makes thinking about it inevitable.

"Yeah, I do," I say, my voice barely audible, hardly above a whisper. "I know what you're talking about. People say it all the time, like while I'm right in front of them, and it's as if I don't even-"

I stop talking when I notice that there's something crusted and red under his fingernails. Blood. Blood the exact same color as the blood on the knife that I found in the bathroom, as if the two were the same.

"Did you kidnap or kill your son?" I blurt out, no longer able to hide my anger. My voice is shrill, accusing, and bitchy, but I don't care. All I care about is finding out the truth.

Mr. Lizewski doesn't deny it at first. All he does is draw his hand back, away from mine, and sigh before looking up at me and then past me, staring at something else. His eyes leave that place after a minute, and he sighs again as his brown eyes, which are so unlike his son's, settle on my green ones.

"Mindy," he says quietly, hurt evident in his voice. I start to regret asking my question, but the feeling of regret fades as I watch his frown turn into a sad smile, one that looks like he's about to admit something. I feel my face flush red with anger as he shakes his head and looks down. As he does, I notice that tears have pooled up in his eyes. Maybe they're guilty tears?

He sighs for a third time as first tear slides down his cheek. I start to feel a bit guilty, myself, but I shove the guilt back into the farthest corners of my mind and look him straight in his teary eyes, waiting for his response.

"He really...I can't...Mindy..." Dave's father's voice breaks. Immediately after that happens I know I'm wrong and I want to take back my words. "I couldn't...I couldn't do it. And like I said, I can't imagine _why _anyone would want to do it. I'm sorry if I've made things look really bad for myself, but..."

I stop him before he can continue. "No. _I'm _sorry. I just...I found a knife, a lock of your son's hair, and a razor hidden in the bathroom, tucked away into the wall. And there's just...there's something that looks like blood under your fingernails and I just assumed that you took him. I'm sorry."

He looks under his fingernails as if noticing the blood-like substance for the first time. Then he shakes his head and lets out a quiet laugh. "Oh, that. That's just paint, sweetheart. I was redoing my bedroom walls and a bit got under my fingernails. I was painting before you got here. You can even go check my bedroom if you want."

"Oh," I say quietly, feeling stupid. How could I not have noticed the smell of paint and the newly red painted room? Now that I think about it, I guess I _do _remember noticing those things on my way to the bathroom. Maybe I was too busy thinking about Dave to notice much other than him. "I'm sorry." I say.

"Mindy, I really want to forgive you, but I can't believe you'd think that I'd hurt my own son," he tells me as a tear slides down his face. "I want him back as much as you do, you know."

At that moment, just as I'm about to apologize again, my phone buzzes. I sigh and pull it out of my pocket, already knowing who it is. I draw in my breath sharply and hold it for a minute as I read the message.

**1 UNREAD MESSAGE**

**Message received at 10:32 A.M.**

**From: Dave (AKA your boyfriend)**

**Message:**

**You're stupider than I thought, you know that? You really, really are. I'm disappointed in you. However, I am also surprised. I didn't think you go after poor old James Lizewski. You should have known that that dumb old fucker couldn't hurt him. He's too much like his coward of a son for that. Or is he? Maybe he did do it. Maybe I'm lying. Maybe this whole game is a lie. You never know.**

**You should probably leave the house now, by the way, things are about to get really ugly. Keep a look out for another hint. It might come in the form of a text, email, picture; you never really know. **

**Until next time! I'll be watching! **

**xoxoxoxo**

"Uh, Mr. L, can we talk another time? I've uh, really got to go," I quickly say.

He nods. "Sure, Mindy."

I grab my purse and start walking towards the front door. Before I leave, I turn to him again with teary eyes and a guilty looking face and apologize again. "I'm really sorry I asked that. I just-"

"No, I understand," He replies. After that, I leave.

**...**

**LATER...**

There's a light tapping sound as my feet hit the pavement when I walk. I look down, and watch my converse slap against the sidewalk, finding the sight of it somehow calming. I look up, once, to look up at the street sign that indicates where I am, but there's none. I mentally shrug, as if thinking, _oh well, _and decide that it's not that hard to tell where I am, anyway. The sights of old, shabby looking apartments with nice cars parked outside, somehow affordable to the person living within those shitty apartment buildings tell me that this is a bad neighborhood, on the poorer side of town; I didn't need any street sign to tell me that.

I don't really remember leading myself here; all I remember is just walking out of Dave's old house, then running while crying, then walking while still crying as I somehow ended up here, in one of the worst fucking places in the entire damn city. Okay, maybe it's not one of the worst places, but it's still pretty fucking bad. I'd rather be here than at home, though. At least here, I don't have my father breathing down my neck, yelling at me, telling me that my Dave isn't real.

Well, at least that's what I think,up until a minute later. "Mindy?" Someone familiar yells my name.

Quickly, I turn around, and see my father, making his way towards me in his wheelchair. "Daddy?" I yell back. "What are you doing here?" I begin to run towards him as I call out those words to him.

"I knew I'd find you here," he says by way of greeting. "You always wander off to these parts when you're thinking about something. Maybe it's because I took you here a lot when you were younger."

A flash of a memory shoots through my brain, a memory of my father and I killing a drug dealer in some apartment building not too far from here. I remember thinking about how fragile humans really are, how easy it is to kill someone and to feel nothing about it. The thought left me feeling guilty and kind of ashamed. "Yeah," I say quietly, trying to knock that memory out of my brain. "I remember."

He nods and smiles as if remembering something just as equally fucked up, but somehow happy to him. "So, what's bothering you this time? Problems at school? Boy troubles?"

I sigh. "Sure, dad. Boy troubles."

"Well," he replies, oblivious to the fact that I was being sarcastic, "Am I gonna need to cut someone's dick off?"

I can't help but smile at my father's reply. Some people might say he's a tad overprotective and violent, but I think it's nice- well, sometimes, at least. Letting out a laugh, I say, "No, not this time, Daddy."

We laugh for a minute or two, and I feel my heart get less heavy as I get a little bit happier. My father always _was _the best at cheering me up.

"So, Mindy," he says. "We should probably head back, now. It's getting dark."

Raising my eyebrows, I scoff and tell him, "That never bothered you before. Darkness, I mean. I thought real superheros worked in the dark."

"No, honey," he sweetly explains, "Only hookers work in the dark. Now come on, we've got to go home before-"

A loud _BANG! _drowns out whatever he's trying to say. I drop to the ground immediately, ignoring the sharp sting I feel as my chin meets the sidewalk. "Fuck," I mutter, thinking of Daddy. "Daddy! Get out of here!" I yell at him.

Another _BANG! _sounds, but this time a scream follows soon after. A scream I recognize all too well. I gasp as I realize who the scream belongs to, and get to my feet instantly. I no longer give a shit about getting shot. All I care about is getting to the person who's screaming.

"Dave!" I scream, running towards the sound of his screaming voice. I feel tears well up in my eyes as I run, but I blink them away and scream his name again, just enjoying the taste of it in my mouth, the feel of it leaving my lips. "Dave!"

A smile somehow appears on my face as I run. _I found him, _I think to myself. _He may be hurt or dead- hopefully not- but at least I've found him. I've finally, FINALLY-_

I don't even get to finish that thought.

A bullet whizzes through the air, and before I can do anything to stop it, hits me. All there is is a sharp, burning stab of pain in my head, and then, blackness. But before I black out, I cry out his name one more time, just to let him know I tried.

* * *

><p><strong>(AN: Hey guys! I'm sorry I made you wait so long for this chapter. I just got like really busy/bad writer's block/distracted. I promise the next chapter will be up in a shorter amount of time than this one was. So, please tell me what you thought. Do you guys have an idea about who took Dave? Are you confused? Tell me in a review or PM- if you want. Well, thanks for reading; I hope you enjoyed! I'll see you next chapter!)**


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

_**"I lie awake and try so hard not to think of you, but who can decide what they dream, and dream I do. I believe in you; I'll give up everything just to find you. I have to be with you to live, to breathe. You're taking over me."- Taking over me, Evanescence**_

**Mindy's POV**

_"Dave, you're being really, really stupid about this!" I yell at my boyfriend, who looks down at me, his eyes glimmering with hints of sadness. "You're seriously overreacting."  
><em>

_"Mindy, you killed someone," he repeats for the billionth time this night. "An innocent person."_

_Tears flood my eyes as he says that. It's true, after all. I had gotten a little reckless during patrol, and it ended with someone dying. Yes, an innocent person. As awful as I feel, he doesn't have the right to judge me about it. "I didn't mean to," I weakly argue._

_"But you did!" he yells at me, grabbing me by the shoulders. "Mindy, you killed a little kid!"_

_I start to sob after he says that, letting out more tears than I ever have in my life. "I know! Okay! I know!" I scream through my tears before collapsing onto the floor in an embarrassing heap of feelings. I want to yell at myself, slap myself, and tell myself to get back up, but I can't. Honestly, all I want to do is die. I feel awful, worse than I've ever felt before. He's right. I killed a little girl. In all of my reckless shooting, I hurt someone. "If I could take it back, I would," I say. _

_"I know you would," he says, looking down at me, "but that doesn't change a thing and you know it!" _

_"I'm sorry," I apologize, the words barely intelligible through my many sobs. "I'm so sorry."_

_That's when he finally stops yelling and helps me to my feet again before taking me in his arms and letting me sob into his shoulder. Hugging me tightly, he apologizes over and over again, murmuring in my ear about how sorry he is. He tells me that he's sorry he's made me feel so awful. He says that he hates himself for making me cry, that he feels like the worst boyfriend in the world. I want to console him, to make him feel like the best boyfriend in the world, but I can't. I can't tell him that it's okay, that I'm okay. Because I'm not. _

_"No, you're right," I mutter, "I'm a horrible person."_

_He shakes his head and hugs me tighter. "No, you're not. You just made a mistake."_

_"A mistake that cost a seven year old girl her life," I say before breaking down again._

_He shakes his head again. "I know that what you did was reckless and stupid and that nothing I can say will ever, ever, ever make this better," He pulls away after he says that, and for a second I think that he's done talking, that he's gonna leave me here to face the guilt of this all by myself. But he doesn't; he keeps talking to me. "But, look. You can't live with this guilt forever. I know you hate yourself for it, and I know that you probably wish you were dead instead of that little girl. But Min, I don't want you to hate yourself. EVERYBODY makes mistakes. I know this mistake is really stupid, but it's still just as bad as everyone else's fuckups. It's okay. I promise you that everything is gonna get better. You're not a murderer. You're a hero still. Even Batman and Superman have done stuff like this."_

_I look up at him with teary green eyes. "How can you still love me after what I've done?"_

_He gives me a kiss. It's nothing overly passionate. It's sweet. Reassuring. "Mindy, I love you no matter what happens, no matter what you do. Even if you kill someone, if you mean to do it, I won't care. I'd still love you. I promise."_

_"You'd really love me now matter what?" I ask in disbelief._

_"Yes," he whispers. "I love you no matter what."_

_"Me too."_

...

_ Before Dave, I had never really understood what love was. _

_ My experiences in life had led me to believe that love couldn't and didn't exist. I had thought that if love really did exist, then the world wouldn't be so terrible. After all, love is supposed to be unconditional, eternal, obtainable. If all of those things were true, then why did the world seem to be free of love and all of its benefits? Why was everything so dark if the world was supposedly filled with love? What was love, anyway, other than an inconvinience? I had all of those unanswered questions in my head about love, something that at that time seemed like a disease._

_ Things got different when I met Dave. As we got to know each other, and started spending more and more time together, I begun to understand why love was so important in a person's life. He made me feel like something other than a killing machine, more than what I really was. In more ways than one, he took me to places I didn't know existed. He loved me, and I fell in love back. I finally learned about love. _

_ Having him taken away from me was like having my heart ripped out and stomped on a million times. The only thing holding me up was- and still is- his love, but I didn't (and still don't fully) know it. Experiencing this whole thrill ride, this rollercoaster of emotion and pain has made me begin to doubt love once again. I hate myself for it. I want to go back to being the person who thought that the only thing there in their life, the only thing to live for, was love. I'm not that person anymore. I'm someone else now, someone darker. But whoever I am, whatever persona I've managed to adopt now, better find Dave as soon as possible. Because this person is forgetting how to love again, and sooner or later, their heart will turn black and all they will know is killing once again..._

...

There's a bitter taste in my mouth as I wake up, as if I drank a gallon of gasoline just before unwillingly plunging into a deep darkness. I take a gasp for air, taking as much of the stuff into my lungs as possible. There seems to be a veil of something covering my eyes, making it hard to see; everything is blurry, as if I'm looking at life through a dirty pair of glasses. I have to blink another few times to get everything to look clear again, but once everything starts to look normal, it goes fuzzy once again. Sighing, I try and sit up, only to find that I'm held down by restraints. I fight against them, moving my limbs in frantic spasms to try and get them out. After a minute of trying, I fall back against a lush pillow and sigh again, giving up.

I close my eyes and try and relax. A faint beeping sound accompanies the painful, shrill ringing in my ears, a beeping sound that I assume indicates my heartbeat. It beeps at a rapid pace, the short static-y noises seeming to merge together. Taking in a deep breath, I try and calm myself. In the back of my head somewhere, a memory reminds me that Daddy once taught me how to-

Wait a second. Where _is _my father?

Where am _I?_

My eyes open mechanically. The flimsy veil still clouds my vision, but I can see a bit better now. I'm in a plain room; walls with a plain wallpaper, a white tiled floor, one tiny window. There's nothing else in the room except for a chair and the heart monitor thingy, along with some more medical junk that I might be hooked up to. I assume I'm in a bed.

Well, I'm either in a really nice torture chamber, or a hospital.

My problem with deciding which of the two it is is solved when a nurse walks in, her blue scrubs with pink dots standing out against the simple, plain design of the room. Her light, sky blue colored eyes light up when she seems that I'm concious, a smile shaping itself on her glossy lips.

"Morning, sleepyhead!" she pipes cheerfully, the peppy sound not quite sounding right, what with how low and smooth her voice is. The sound of her voice seems far off, almost, and everything is still very blurry, so I find myself unable to pick up on things about her that would tell if she was being genuine or not. This puts a dent in my mood. I fucking _hate _being unable to do stuff like this. How am I supposed to know if she's here to kill me or something?

"Morning," I reply carefully. Even the sound of my own voice is far away, as if I'm speaking from the other end of a tunnel.

She smiles as she walks towards me, the corners of her perfectly pink lips still upturned. I get a sense of discomfort as she draws closer. This feeling only gets worse when she sits on the edge of my bed and strokes my hair with her hand. If I wasn't restrained, I'd slap the bitch, I swear.

After doing a couple of normal nurse things, like checking my heartbeat (cold metal against my chest), taking my temperature (an even colder thermometer underneath my tounge), and making sure I'm breathing correctly (an akward situation in which my bare chest is involved), she sighs and puts her hand on my shoulder. "How are you doing, sweetie?" Her voice is quiet but , it sounds kind of weird with a voice like hers. Although, something about it is soothing, even though she has a weird voice and it sounds like it's coming from the other side of the universe.

However, I don't allow myself to get comfortable with her just yet. "I don't know, you tell me," I say emotionlessly. "You're the one that just checked me up right now."

She laughs. "I didn't really mean how are you doing, medically. I meant, how are you feeling about all this? How's your head?"

_My head? _"What happened to my head?" I ask, panic creeping into my voice at the thought of something horrible happening to me.

"You don't remember?"

I shake my head as best as I can. "Not really."

This seems to worry her. She takes out her clipboard and a pen, and writes something down. Even if I wanted to, I couldn't read what it says. Her handwriting is sharp, a thin scrwal that reminds me of knives. "What's the last thing you remember?" She questions me as she writes, not even looking up from the bright white pages on her clipboard.

I try and think, searching my muddled thoughts for a flash of something, a dart of a memory, a last thought. I search and search and search, but I find nothing, something I find very alarming. There's nothing in my head, anymore. What I was thinking earlier, about Daddy or that memory or the nurse- it's all gone. It seems as if every thought I have falls out of my head the second after it makes it's way into my mind, gone as quickly as it came.

"I don't know..." I mutter, still trying to remember. There's a flash of something, but it's gone before I can figure out what it is. "I really don't." Another flash. Gone again. "Is that bad?"

She sighs. "To be honest, yes," she replies as she puts down her clipboard, setting it down on a small bedside table. "Would you like me to explain everything to you, or do you want me to wait for your doctor to tell you that? He _is _better with the medical terminology and all that stuff, but I can explain it in a way you'll understand. So which will it be? Me, or your doctor?"

"You seem better at the whole 'talking' thing," I tell her. "He'd probably make things awkward and be _way _too happy about it."

Giving me a smile, she says, "He _is _way too happy about his patients injuries. I think it's because the worse the injury, the more money he gets. Don't tell anyone I said that. It's our little secret," she says with a wink before getting serious again. "Anyway, you're suffering from a major head injury. You're lucky to be alive. Seriously. You got shot in the head. Luckily, the person only fired two shots- one hit you and one hit your dad- and only one hit you head. The bullet didn't really hurt you all that bad, and there's no brain damage, but we're still considering this to be a major injory because you seem to be suffering from amnesia, _and _you were in danger of slipping into a coma. Had you gotten to this hospital one _second _later than you arrived, you'd be in a coma, fighting for your life."

It takes me a minute or so to let this all sink in. After all, it is quite a lot. It's like after watching a long, thought-provoking movie; you just want to sit there for a while to process what happened. Unfortunately, in both that scenario and mine, you don't have time to let it all sink in; you only have a couple of minutes before you have to jump back into the real world with that information still sitting in a dark corner of your mind, just waiting to come out and torture you.

"I got...shot...in the head?" I ask, the words slowly finding their way out my mouth. "How...how am I alive?"

Surviving a shot to the head isn't unheard of; I know that. I _have _seen Kill Bill and every other movie where someone awakens from a shot to the head. It's just so unusual, something I didn't think could happen in real life.

"Like I said, I'm not really that educated on the medically terminology and all of that. I just know that the bullet went clean into your head, buried itself in you, even broke through your _skull, _but somehow, you're alive," she states with a smile, acting like it's the greatest news in the fucking world. I can't blame her for her optimism, though. On some level, I'm happy that I'm alive, too. "You are a medical marvel, sweetie."

I give her a very weak, very forced smile. I want to say something, something like _great, _or _fantastic, _or _awesome, _or even _cool, _but I can't. There's really no good answer to a statement that claims I am a fucking miracle.

Suddenly her smile goes away. "But, you _are _still suffering from amnesia, which I'm not quite sure is severe or not just yet. The only way for me to find out would be if you told me _everything _you know about yourself. Do you think you can do that?"

I nod. I really don't care if this woman knows about my personal life. All I really care about is if she finds out that I'm...I'm...who am I again? I swear a second ago there was something I knew that I just _had _to keep hidden, something that nobody can ever know about me. But now, it's gone. The guilt and weight that the secret carried with me is just...gone. I'm kind of glad I don't remember. At least now I have nothing to hide.

"Well, I know that my name is Mindy...Macready. I don't think I had a middle name. I didn't, right? I guess I didn't. Anyway...I'm...sixteen years old, right? Yeah. I have to be. Because if this year is...what is this year? Nevermind, it doesn't matter. Okay well...I can't remember my birthday right now. Um...my father is...Damon Macready. My mother...her name is...it starts with a K. Katherine? No, Kathleen? Yeah, it's Kathleen. I live with my parents, right? Yeah, I do. I had a legal guardian once. Marcus...Williams. Yeah, Detective Marcus Williams... and I guess that's it. That's all I remember."

The nurse nods. "Okay. Well. I guess you remember the important stuff, really," she states. "Well, I have to go get your doctor now. You just wait right here, okay?"

She's gone before I can reply, and I'm left alone with my thoughts, feeling like I know nothing important, nothing of worth.

...

_Dear Journal, _

_ They told me to start a journal because in some way it'll help me remember. I don't know how the fuck writing down every single thought I have is going to help me, but I'd do anything to get back the chunks of my memory that are gone._

_ I hate living like this. One second I remember something- a childhood memory, a grade on an unimportant test, an old scent of someone I used to know- then, its gone. And if that isn't bad enough, they want me to "try and remember so I can have it in the journal". But how am I supposed to do that when the memory is gone the second it arrives._

_ Well, I'm supposed to write down everything I know again. I remembered a teeny bit more, but nothing really important. Here it goes._

_ My name is Mindy Macready. I'm sixteen years old. I'm an only child. I am a normal sixteen year old girl. The year is 2014. My father is Damon Macready. He's in a wheelchair because he had an accident with a fire a few years ago. My mother is dead. I live with my father in an apartment in New York City. I am nothing but a normal sixteen year old girl._

* * *

><p><strong>(AN: Hey guys! Sorry it's late...I haven't gotten any time to write at all, so I'm gonna spend all this week writing. So...maybe leave a review and tell me what you thought? I know this chapter isn't too eventful, but I think it serves it's purpose. See you next chapter!)  
><strong>


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